Radio Edit
by madamequeso
Summary: Modern AU. Christine is a lowly tech assistant at a recording studio, but a voice in the ceiling thinks she could be so much more.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"You can sing Miss Daaé, can't you?" Christine closed her eyes, inhaled the scent of coffee that hovered around her constantly since she started this job, and prayed for patience. Andre wasn't a bad boss, exactly. It was just that ever since she'd arrived at the Garnier recording company, demo cd in hand and dreams of stardom in her head, and Andre had smiled indulgently and offered her a tech assistant job instead, she'd brought up that cd, that burning desire to sing _anything _that other people would actually hear, at every turn, and was always met with the same inattentive, distant smile. But nonetheless, she mustered a smile of her own and said

"Yes, or I'd like to anyway."

"Well today's your lucky day, because Carlotta's backup singer hasn't shown up and isn't answering her phone. I guess you can just stay in the booth once you finish setting up."

"Wow, thank you." She said, feeling her smile become real. "Seriously, this is awesome."

"Don't get too excited, it's just gonna be a few ooh's and aah's." He sounded supremely bored about the whole situation, and not for the first time Christine wondered why he and his life partner Rich had even gotten into the music business, as she'd never seen either of them display an ounce of passion for it.

But none of that mattered, as she ensured everything was in place for _her _recording session with shaking hands, and donned the headphones she usually left on the stool for someone else to wear. Andre and a couple other people she took coffee to on a regular basis filed into the studio on the other side of the glass, and gestured for her to begin.

Andre was right, singing some simple "oh yeah's" into the microphone while Carlotta's brassy belt played through her headphones might not have been the most vocally satisfying experience, especially since Christine was not personally a fan of her music. But it was still exciting to know that this was _the _Carlotta, who was always on the cover of magazines in sparkly bikinis and regularly cracked the top 40's with her up tempo dance numbers, and Christine's voice was going to share a track with her. The people listening to her sing were somewhat less excited. Everyone in the studio on the other side of the glass was on their phone, only looking up occasionally to make sure she came in at the right time. She realized with a sinking heart that she would probably be auto tuned so much that it hardly mattered how she sounded. Any female voice would do. And all too soon the session was over, and Andre's voice was crackling through the overhead speaker saying,

"Thank you. You can pick everything up like usual, right?" And leaving before she could answer, and she suddenly knew she hadn't given her best possible performance, and she would probably never see this side of the microphone again. She waited a moment, once everyone else was gone, slipping the headphones down around her neck and imagining she had just recorded a solo album, that she was preparing for a tour where she would be alone under a harsh spotlight, staring into a glittering, expectant crowd and singing for all she was worth. She was just preparing to really sing into the waiting mic, feeling a little guilty about wasting company time like this but unwilling to let the opportunity pass, when the most smooth, beautiful, and frightening voice she'd ever heard came through the speaker in the ceiling and said

"You won't sustain more than two bars with a breath like that." The breath Christine had taken was quite sufficient for her shriek of surprise, and she wasn't sure if it was lucky or unlucky that she was alone in a soundproof recording booth. "And sounds like _that _could cause irreparable damage to your vocal chords." The voice continued calmly.

"Who-_where _are you?" Christine said, sweeping her eyes over the empty studio, which was the only place where someone could get access to the speakers in this booth, and the only place anyone could hear what she said into this microphone. She thought that a Garnier employee might have stayed behind without her noticing, but she could see all too clearly that no one was there.

"Those are not the questions you should be asking." The breathtaking voice spoke with such authority. "You should be wondering why."

"Why?" Had she somehow slipped from a daydream into a real one? She surreptitiously slipped a hand beneath her skirt and pinched the back of her knee. It hurt a lot.

"Have you had any formal vocal training?"

"What?" She had been expecting another cryptic statement that resembled the beginning of a horror movie, not more discussion of her singing. An annoyed sigh resonated through the recording booth, causing a rush of static.

"Was I wrong in assuming you could speak English?" His accent (the voice was unmistakably masculine) sounded like a subtle mixture of French and something else, tantalizing and strange, but he spoke with absolutely perfect diction.

"No." She muttered, feeling both scared and foolish now. "I've never had formal lessons, but my Papa taught me what he could when I was younger."

"You have potential to be great, Miss Daaé, but you require much training. I could give you that, help you achieve all of your dreams, and more."

"I um, appreciate the offer." She said slowly, more confused than ever. "But if I had any money for singing lessons I would already be taking them."

"I do not want your _money_." Now the voice sounded insulted. "I want the opportunity to tune your instrument, before anyone else does. To fling it out to the world, fully formed and perfect, and when they are all cheering and praising it's beauty, to know that it is _mine._" Christine felt a shiver go up her spine at that, and some rational part of her mind told her to put the headphones down, walk out of the booth and go on about her day as though nothing had happened. But Christine Daaé had been raised on fairy tales and ancient mythologies, and had found early on that rationality did not much suit her. And she had been waiting, ever since her papa died, for something magical to come along and somehow make things all right again. And perhaps 19 was too old for such foolish hopes, but still she found herself asking in a whisper

"Why should I believe you?" Because she truly wanted a reason to. And then the voice started to sing. It was something haunting and classical that she had never heard before, and she felt tears spring to her eyes without warning. She knew then that she was not dreaming, because her mind would never have been able to fabricate such a sound on its own. It really was as though some sort of angel or demi god had descended from the heavens and poured his essence into her ears, her very soul, and she knew that the moment his song finished she would never be the same. And perhaps, in light of the last few years of her life, that would not be such a bad thing. The moment the booth rang with silence she tried to say

"Yes." Found her throat choked and rasping, cleared it and tried again. "Yes. Please. I would love to learn." There was a long stretch of silence, and then the voice said

"Do not enter into this lightly." Sounding completely calm and composed after reducing her to an emotional wreck. "I will expect 100% commitment. The moment you miss a lesson or do not get adequate sleep or neglect your independent vocal exercises because of some boy or some party is the moment you lose my attention forever." Christine would have laughed if her knees had been a little steadier.

"I have no life. That shouldn't be a problem."

"And I expect diligence and application. You have a natural gift, but that does not mean this will be easy." She nodded, then realized she had no idea if this person, this presence could see her, and said

"I'll work hard, I promise." His song still ringing in her ears.

"Then you will return to this booth at 8 pm tonight, and every night this week."

"Oh, um, I'm not allowed in, once we close for the day." She said slowly.

"Do you have access to a key?"

"Yes."

"Then you will be here at precisely 8 oclock." She swallowed, feeling a terrible certainty that she would. "And Christine?"

"Yes?" She hated how small and thin her voice had gotten, but hearing her name said in his voice was as lovely as it was terrifying.

"You are going to be wildly popular, when I am through with you. You need to be psychologically prepared for fame, and all of its implications." She did laugh then, just for a moment, and the sound startled her as it echoed around the booth. Because she did not know what she'd been doing her whole life through besides preparing to be famous. It had started as a childhood dream, watching her papa become a moderately successful concert violinist and thinking of the day she'd be on stage too. And then, when her papa was gone and she should have grown up and moved on, she'd simply clung on fiercer than ever, escaped into her fantasies of stardom until they seemed more real than anything else. But she recollected herself, remembered she was quite scared but also feeling a deep excitement that had eluded her for so long, and said

"I'm ready for that." Christine waited, but the voice made no reply. She was still frozen in place, listening intently for any clue about what had just happened when a sharp rap on the glass startled her, and she looked up to see Andre giving her an annoyed look from the studio.

"You've been in here ages, lady. What's the hold up?"

"Sorry!" She said, scurrying to prepare the booth for its next occupant, and fairly floating through the rest of her tasks that day. It was when she made it home to her tiny fifth floor apartment and said a distracted hello to her roommate Meg that things really started to kick in. She had agreed to music lessons with someone she knew literally nothing about, not even a face or a first name, and they supposedly wanted nothing from her but hard work. And she was supposed to go back tonight and effectively break and enter for a private lesson. She put her purse down and settled into her favorite worn armchair, worrying her lip between her teeth and thinking of that _voice._

"Christine?" A much safer and more familiar voice broke in. She looked around at Meg. "That was like the third time I've asked you how your day was. What's up?"

"Shoot, sorry I uh" She paused. Christine trusted Meg, she really did. She'd answered Meg's roommate ad on craigslist almost a year ago, and the cheery blonde was still the only person in New York that Christine considered to be a true friend. But she knew Meg would tell her not to go tonight, and suddenly she needed to hear that voice again, more than anything else. "I got a chance to sing in the studio today. Just a little back up, for Carlotta actually, and I don't think it went that well."

"What? Girl that's so exciting. And how could it not go well? I've heard you sing, even if it is Carlotta's shit. I'm sure they loved it." Christine had to laugh then, because Meg was a back up dancer for Carlotta. Her whole life revolved around 'Carlotta's shit,' and she was the one who had sent Christine to Carlotta's recording company and put in a good word for her.

"I don't know, no one was listening." But that wasn't true, was it? Someone had been listening, somewhere, and believed she had talent.

"One day you'll make them." Meg said affectionately. "You just have to stop being so nice." But Christine didn't feel particularly nice as she mumbled something about finding cheap singing lessons on a flyer at work, and Meg was all happy support. Nonetheless a few hours later she found herself sitting on the subway and staring blankly at the pages of her book with a perfectly reasonable excuse for leaving the apartment every evening this week. And it wouldn't be a lie, technically, if she neglected to mention that she'd never actually met her teacher. Of course that was assuming she made it home tonight at all. She touched her pepper spray keychain for the thousandth time, and had the distinct feeling it wouldn't help her any.

Christine reached her stop and made it back to the studio, which looked smaller and more sinister in the dark. She couldn't help looking over both shoulders as she used the key she'd been given for opening early mornings to let herself in. But as usual the people walking down the dirty Manhatten sidewalk had plenty to think about besides a short, nervous looking brunette, and they barely seemed to see her as they passed.

The only light inside came from the recording booth she'd sung in earlier that day, and it guided her like a beacon of either doom or salvation. There was sheet music waiting for her on a stand inside the booth, and she sent up a silent thanks to her papa for teaching her to sight-read. The microphone was on and the headphones were connected. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the voice itself, and she said a hesitant "Hello?" feeling a bit foolish.

"Good evening." Christine wondered how long he had been there, and if he had been able to see her looking all around the edges of the room and thumbing through the sheets of music. "You will start with the first warm up on the stand, if you please. And wear the headphones, as the appropriate accompaniments will be played." She nodded, more to herself than to him and did as he asked. Or tried to, anyway. The simple progression of scales should have been easy, but her voice sounded thin and shaky as she attempted it. She could feel her shoulders curling in, and was convinced any moment she would feel a hand over her mouth or something sharp in her side. Coming back here had been a terrible idea.

"Stop." The voice was harsh and cold. "What seems to be the matter?" Christine shrugged helplessly. Telling him she was fairly convinced he was an axe murderer seemed a bit rude. And stupid. "You're scared." It wasn't spoken as a question, so Christine didn't attempt to answer. "I am not going to harm you, Miss Daaé." The voice was softer now, almost tired. "If that was my goal I could have accomplished it through much easier methods, I assure you. So if you would sing, instead of that strangled mess you were making before."

"Allright." She said, feeling a little steadier. The way he talked about music made it clear that it was what he truly cared about, and she could understand that, even if nothing else about their situation made sense. As long as he continued to value her voice, this man would have no reason to hurt her, she thought firmly. Christine would look back on that moment often, in the years to come, and find it almost funny how wrong she was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It took three lessons for Christine to work up the courage to ask the voice what his name was. But finally as she was leaving one night she said "Goodbye." Paused and said "It seems strange not to have anything to call you."

"Why should you call me anything? Do you speak of me to others?"

"I-no." Christine frowned. All she had told Meg was that her new teacher was strict but talented, and she thought lessons were going well. No one else in her life would care. "I just think it's weird, to not even have a name to say bye to."

"You may call me Maestro, if you must." He rolled the "r" and Christine felt even less sure about where his accent originated.

"Allright, Maestro." She felt a little dumb saying it. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Christine." It was said slowly and carefully, as though he was not in the habit of exchanging pleasantries. She shook her head as she stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Her curiosity about her teacher was reaching unbearable proportions. He was always severe with her, stopping just short of mean in his chilly politeness. But the way he _sang. _The way her voice was transforming already, after less than a week. It was exhilarating.

It also made her job seem duller by comparison. She spent even more of her time watching the big stars record and imagining how she would sing their songs, and sighing to herself when they went off key. One morning her coworker Jamie hissed "Ooh, bad luck. You got Carlotta duty today."

"Is it that bad?" She asked. She'd heard enough tirades from Meg, but her roommate did tend to exaggerate. Jamie made a pitying face.

"There's a reason everyone trades shifts not to get her. You've been lucky so far, but you'll see." Christine felt her face fall.

"Oh. Well, it will be exciting to meet her, I guess." The other girl gave her a pitying look before hurrying off. Christine went to consult the sacred coffee chart, a color-coded document tacked up in the assistants' break room that listed the Starbucks order of every client and higher up employee at Garnier. Christine had perfected the art of the coffee run, and only minutes later she arrived at her assigned booth with a venti triple shot and a determination to inform Carlotta that she had sung back up for her, because if there was one cliché about the business that was already ground into her, it was that it was all about who you know. The only problem was Carlotta was not there. Andre, Christine and Carlotta's manager Seth stood around the studio smiling uncomfortably at each other and remarking about the weather for almost an hour before the singer burst into the studio. Her signature midriff was tan and bare, her hair was huge and glossy and her voice was loud.

"Andre darling how are you?" She purred, kissing Andre on both cheeks and holding a hand out for her coffee at the same time. She sipped it, grimaced, tossed it in a trashcan and rounded on her agent. "Don't look at me like that Seth, I know I'm late. But you can't rush perfection." She winked, and turned to Christine, looking her up and down with a critical eye.

"Hi, I'm Christine." She said. "I actually sang back up on one of your songs, _Dance For Love _I think it was called?"

"Hmm." Carlotta raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, then addressed Andre. "I didn't know we were letting coffee girls sing my songs, dear."

"It was an emergency situation, and Christine has always expressed a passion for singing." Carlotta looked unimpressed. "We can re record it if you'd like, of course."

"Yes I'd like." She rolled her eyes. "Why doesn't anyone understand, there's a difference between professional singers and amateurs. Even for the small parts you can't just assign someone _random_."

"You're right, I should have thought. Next time I'll-" Carlotta waved a dismissive hand, cutting Andre off.

"_Dio _can I just get in the booth already? All this talking is giving me wrinkles. It's your job Seth not mine."

"I'll work it out, Carlotta." Seth said with an oily smile. She was already walking towards the booth as he talked, hips swinging and heeled boots clicking, and as she opened the door she spared one more glance at Christine to say

"And that coffee was _cold_. If I could get something decent sometime today that would be fabulous." Christine nodded, even managed to force a tight smile onto her face, and practically fled back to Starbucks. It was going to be a very long day.

And of course it wasn't over, when she got home. She would have to leave in a few hours for the terrifying and thrilling prospect of a lesson with Maestro. She groaned, collapsing onto the sofa and burying her head under a pillow. Carlotta had not improved on Christine's return to the studio, and she wasn't sure if she could be berated anymore that day without breaking down in tears. Meg found her like that and said

"What happened to you?"

"Carlotta." Chrstine said, refusing to take the pillow off her head.

"Oh honey." She tutted, leaving the room for a moment and returning with the emergency pint of ice cream they always kept in the freezer. "Isn't she the worst?"

"She's terrible!" Christine agreed, sitting up and feeling better already. They spent a good while criticizing Carlotta and by the time she returned to Garnier the whole thing seemed to Christine funny rather than infuriating. She warmed up on her own as she'd been instructed, waiting for Maestro's voice to make itself known.

"So you had the dubious privilege of listening to one of the most popular artists in your country record today. How did you like it?" She jumped, even though she had vowed not to tonight. He always did this, interjected a non sequitur seemingly out of nowhere rather than greeting her with a simple hello.

"You were there?" She hadn't thought of that, even though he had discovered her by listening in during the day. Was he always lurking at Garnier, hiding out wherever he was now? Could he see her as she went about her daily routine? The thought had her flushed and confused.

"Yes." She waited, but it seemed she wouldn't be getting any more information on that front. "How did you find her?"

"Carlotta?" She frowned. "She was," she paused and looked at her feet. It was one thing to complain about Carlotta to Meg in the safety of their apartment, but the woman sold out worldwide tours. Who was she to judge her, especially to someone like Maestro who clearly knew so much more about music than Christine did? But he had asked, and she didn't have any more false niceties left in her today. "She sucked. I mean, I don't know, her voice is good, I think. It's strong and clear and everything. But it's not…pleasant I guess? Like even if I liked her style of music, I don't think I would enjoy listening to her sing it."

"I would agree with you on those points. Did you notice anything else?" Christine felt a stupid little grin form at that. It was the closest to praising her he'd ever come.

"Well, her range wasn't great, I don't think. She thinned out, on some notes that weren't that high, especially from what you said of where my range could go."

"Correct again. You need not be so hesitant to express an opinion, Christine."

"But she's so famous, it's not like my opinion of her matters. And besides, I don't want to be rude."

"After the way she treated you, I should say you have every right to be rude." For a moment he almost sounded angry. He seemed to be a man of few and formal words, perhaps Carlotta's constant, loud chatter had irked him. She laughed a little.

"If I treated every celebrity the way they treat me, I wouldn't have a job."

"Strange, isn't it, that you and the rest of this society is expected to worship her, when your background vocals are the best music she will ever put out." Christine could feel herself turn an undignified shade of pink at that, but then she remembered with disappointment

"She won't put them out, though. She asked Andre to re record, without even listening to it."

"That remains to be seen." Something in his voice chilled her, and for the thousandth time she wanted to ask why he cared, why he was so invested in the career of a random hopeful, but as usual she was too scared of the answer. "At any rate your piece is on the stand, under your warm ups. You may begin." His tone was now the calm and collected one she'd become accustomed to, and everything seemed to come easily that night. The warmth she felt from Maestro's compliments seemed to seep into her voice and make the simple song she was working on sound better than it ever had before, and she left with a smile on her face. The next two lessons were on the weekend, so there was no troublesome talk of work to interfere. There was only pure, soaring, beautiful music, and nothing mattered for a couple of hours, not Carlotta's rudeness or her rent due the next week or even the constant loneliness that sometimes felt like it was eating her from the inside out. On Sunday afternoon she took out her song writing notebook and her second hand guitar, which had both been gathering dust for a while, and found that she didn't hate what she was writing. Christine knew she was not an extremely skilled or groundbreaking composer, but it felt wonderful to be producing her own music again, even if most likely no one would ever hear it.

On Monday morning she was actually in a good mood for once, chatting with Jamie in the break room when Andre sought her out with a strange, nervous look. "Christine." He said gravely, his eyes flicking between something on his phone and her face. "I just wanted to let you know that Carlotta will be using your backup vocals, when she releases that single."

"Oh, she changed her mind?" Christine was surprised, to say the least. Carlotta had seemed very firm in her conviction that Christine would only ever be a coffee girl. "That's great."

"She has, well, that is to say, it's all a bit complicated and technical, but anyway the important thing is you understand it will be your voice on that track, and no one else's. Besides Carlotta's of course." Andre, who always kept himself so neat and well groomed, was visibly sweating, and Christine couldn't help but think she was missing something.

"That's great to hear." Christine said slowly. "Thanks for uh, letting me know."

"No problem, no problem at all." He nodded before hastily departing. Christine turned back to Jamie.

"That was weird, right?" The other girl nodded.

"Definitely weird, even for Andre."

"Maybe you got ghosted." Joe Buquet suggested around a mouthful of donut, wiggling his fingers. Christine laughed half-heartedly and Jamie rolled her eyes. Legends of a ghost at Garnier seemed to be as old as the building itself, and it was blamed for everything from broken equipment to questionable decisions the managers made. It was a favorite subject of Joe's in particular, and he would even invoke its name as he was cursing his typical thirsty Thursday hangover. "Just wait, itt'l whisper in Rich's ear _give Christine a raaaise_." He continued.

"I wouldn't complain." She muttered. Despite Joe's teasing, Christine couldn't shake the feeling that Andre's strange behavior had some significance she didn't understand. Suddenly she wondered if Maestro was listening, and what he would make of the whole affair. She caught herself wandering down side hallways and peeking into empty rooms whenever she had free time that day, as though she would happen upon her music teacher without even knowing what he looked like. Garnier was an old building, a bit bigger than it needed to be for its modern day purposes, and when the lights got dim or dust swirled around old record players that hadn't been touched in decades, it wasn't so hard to imagine a ghost here. In fact as she examined all the framed awards and black and white pictures of artists so legendary they took her breath away, it was harder to think that she belonged here in any creative capacity. She almost laughed when she saw a Grammy tucked away in the corner of a shelf, as though it was nothing more than an old paperweight. She couldn't resist holding it for a moment, though she was almost sure she wasn't supposed to. It had to be the product of an overactive imagination, when she heard a voice whisper "soon Christine" right in her ear. But she still replaced the Grammy and hurried back to more populated parts of the building, resolved not to mention the incident to anyone, especially not Joe Buquet.


End file.
